


sybarite

by cottontale



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys in Skirts, Fluff and Smut, LUSH Queen Oikawa, LUSH bath bombs, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottontale/pseuds/cottontale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(n). a person who is self-indulgent in their sensuous luxury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sybarite

**Author's Note:**

> NICE LEGS DAISY DUKES MAKE IWA GO *ambulance emoji*

He made the discovery on the cusp of his second year, and quickly fell into the abyss of glitter, lotions, and bubble bars. It was no secret, either, that he was an absolute slut for all things LUSH. Oikawa did as he pleased. 

Then came the skirts. 

This little secret he didn’t advertise. It was something he only put on after a rough day, observing the bruises and his sore knee as he sat this way and that in front of his mirror. Oikawa would zip up a plaid skirt (second-hand from his older sister) and admire his legs for hours. 

Thighs smooth from his baths and lotions, covered in a subtle sparkle to catch the light. Calves bulging with muscle and incredibly soft from a salt scrub. He never put on the socks, which hid his legs and always fell down whenever he stood. They just kept the best part hidden and it was annoying. 

His legs were easily his favorite things about his body.

Which was probably why he sat on his bedroom floor after a long day of school and volleyball, enjoying how the skirt fluttered atop his warmed up muscles. How easy it was to flip it up and see a bit more underneath. 

Strange, though. He didn’t care about the girl’s at school in skirts. Just his own. Maybe he was a bit self-centered, as Iwaizumi was always reminding him gently, but what was wrong with loving yourself? His body was his to admire, skirts, LUSH, and mirrors just a few of his favorite things. 

Moving a bit to the side, Oikawa tilted his head and watched the soft fabric fall open. Heat slashed below his stomach and he quickly put down his legs. 

He couldn’t help but imagine a hand running up and over his knee, his thigh, inching closer to flick underneath the skirt… Up, up, up higher to the valley between his hip and thigh, the sensitive line just adjacent. 

Oikawa pressed his legs together, ignoring the urge to act out the scene and held his breath. 

The front door opened and closed, a distant sound he vaguely registered before the thumping of footsteps heading for his door. Kicking out his legs just in time, Oikawa bucked against the force on the other side. 

“Open the door, it’s me.” Iwaizumi said, voice annoyed. 

Panicking, Oikawa lifted up his hips, balancing on his hands like a crab to keep the door closed. 

“I’m not dressed,” he quickly invented, even though really, it could have passed for truth. “And it’s rude to just walk into a room without knocking!” 

“You never knock, hypocrite.” The ace pushed harder and Oikawa felt his sweaty palms start to slide on the wood floor. “Come on, I brought protein shakes.” 

“I-I’m changing, Iwa-chan!” 

“Why the fuck are you being so weird, Oikawa, you just changed in front of the team an hour ago.” Iwaizumi thumped harder on the door and Oikawa struggled to keep his feet braced. “My hands are freezing holding the shakes, open up!” 

“Please, just wait,” he begged and felt the door move back an inch. 

“Just open the stupid door, I already know you wear stupid alien socks and boxers. What’s the big deal?” 

Oikawa pushed back twice as hard when he could see the ace through the crack between the door and frame. His face was pinched, annoyed, and probably about to look him in the eye. An angry growl and hard smack on the wood from a shoulder was his answer. He yelped at the next very hard shove and slipped. 

Hands flying from beneath him, he fell and closed his eyes shut when the door opened and brought in a cold draft. The skirt fluttered uncomfortably high on his thighs, but he couldn’t bring himself to unfreeze. 

“You’re being such a moron, my hands are literally about to–”

The pause sent Oikawa’s heart up his throat, stomach to his ankles. Iwa-chan would know, he’d be grossed out, he’d never to talk him again. His once hopeful feelings were now absolutely trashed, thrown out the window, squashed to jelly underneath the heavy silence. 

“You… What…” Iwaizumi stuttered and set the protein shakes on the ground. Fingers numb, clenching and unclenching with each breath he saw his best friend take on the floor. 

Oikawa was on his back, knees up and parted to reveal his ever-present alien boxers through the pleated, plaid window. And the large bulge pressing against the glowing stars on the fabric. 

Slowly, he was able to compute two plus two equaled Oikawa in a skirt. A very red, humiliated setter, now shaking on the floor. 

“Shit. Sorry,” he finally managed to grunt out. The sight was extremely shocking and whoa, calm down, this shouldn’t turn him on. His best friend was in a skirt showing off his gorgeous, powerful legs. “T-That’s a skirt.” 

Oikawa lowered his legs and turned over on his stomach, hiding his face. Maybe Iwa-chan would get the hint and leave. Maybe he could pretend this was just a joke, but his silence and flush throughout the past few minutes was pretty obvious. Maybe this was a horrific dream because he fell asleep in the middle of a bath again.

“O-Oh,” Iwaizumi swallowed heavily, now privileged to see the back of those pale thighs, the skirt teasingly showing way too much. “Pull it down, I can see your underwear.” 

Squeaking, Oikawa yanked it down with both hands, still face first on the floor. He kept his trembling hands over the fabric, hiding whatever dignity he had left. 

“It’s okay,” he eventually said. “It, uh, it looks good.” 

A small gasp and Oikawa’s toes flinched, curling up. Iwaizumi’s eyes traveled from feet, ankles, calves, all the way up the those large hands hiding the skirt. Well, not hiding, just keeping it covered and set so the show would stop. Which was a goddamn shame, Iwaizumi thought. 

“It looks really good,” he said. Pulse rabbiting, Iwaizumi waited for Oikawa to connect the dots. This wasn’t how he imagined telling him. The skirt hadn’t been there; neither had Oikawa really–a good old confession letter was deep in his shoulder bag, no longer useful. 

Slowly, Oikawa moved his head and rested a very pink cheek on the floor to look at Iwaizumi. 

“W-What?” 

“It looks pretty,” he mumbled.

“What?” 

He resisted the urge to yell, “I said it looks shitty!” and instead bent down, unable to tear his eyes from the brown and beige striped skirt. 

“Oh,” Oikawa whispered and moved to hide his face again. “S-So unfair, Iwa-chan! I was terrified! You can’t just stay quiet while I write my eulogy.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” he huffed, amused but still way too turned on to really enjoy the delight of Oikawa, below him, in a motherfucking _skirt_. “A skirt though? Really? How long have you been doing this?” 

His best friend stayed silent for a long moment, before wiggling and bringing his hands to hide his face better. The cloth flipped up a bit, revealing more of his upper right thigh. 

“A few weeks,” he admitted. 

Iwaizumi almost fell over he was so surprised. Imagining Oikawa sitting in his room in only a short skirt, his long legs no longer hidden, he held his breath. Yikes. 

Instead of saying, “Holy fucking hell,” he simply put a hand on the skin just above the back of Oikawa’s knee. 

A very loud yip, a kick, and a hurting ankle later, Iwaizumi joined him on the floor. 

“Unnecessary,” he complained, his ankle smarting at the kick while Oikawa mumbled something about sore toes and cold hands. Both were on their backs now, avoiding the other’s eye. Oikawa was still the color of his brightest pink bath bomb and Iwaizumi was slowly catching up to him. 

“Oh my god.” Oikawa said into his hands, knees bent and feet tucked underneath his butt. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi felt pretty much the same. 

“Were you–”

“Yeah.” 

“You should have–”

“I know _now_ ,” Iwaizumi growled and rolled onto his side to face the setter. Oikawa tried to appear smaller, but he was just too big and way too tall to try pulling that shit. “Hey, don’t be an idiot, stop hiding.” 

A few minutes of wrestling and squawks, Iwaizumi came out on top victorious. He pulled them on their feet, still holding onto Oikawa’s hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. 

“Are you serious?” Oikawa finally spoke up, his eyes hard with that practiced look to hide his anxiety. 

To answer his question, Iwaizumi squeezed his hands gently and allowed Oikawa to pull him into a bone crushing hug. 

Again, not how he thought this would go. But he hugged back, bringing the setter closer. While at first he’d been a bit indifferent to Oikawa’s LUSH obsession, now he would probably write a six page essay complete with sources about how wonderful it was. He smelled amazing, felt so soft, was definitely glowing (and it wasn’t just the glitter). 

The feathers of his hair brushed against Iwaizumi’s burning ears until Oikawa suddenly moved and pressed kisses all over his neck and face. 

Stumbling, Iwaizumi stilled completely as he was showered in bursts of quick kisses. Up his neck, behind his ear, on his forehead. It was so innocent and so definitely _not_ what he was expecting that his heart felt two sizes too big. His chest wasn’t wide enough to hold it any longer, seeming to shrink with each press of soft lips, heart about to explode. 

So he grabbed Oikawa’s face between his rough, still very cold hands, and kissed him properly. The momentum made it painful at first, until Oikawa calmed down enough to let Iwaizumi guide. 

Annoyingly enough, he had to stand on the balls of his feet to reach. 

To spite him, Iwaizumi bit his lower lip and dived in immediately when Oikawa gave his stuttering consent. He couldn’t taste him, like he thought he would. It was just very wet, very small, and very warm. His previous anxiety over being a good kisser was tossed in the trash–this was so easy, so fun. 

Making out was slowly becoming his favorite thing, probably outpacing volleyball. Oikawa was breathing through his nose, exploring his ace’s mouth with just as much enthusiasm. The strong taste of chocolate popped into his mind until Iwaizumi pulled back just enough to tug on his lower lip. Oikawa’s knees wobbled and smacked together. Iwaizumi fixed that simply by putting his own leg between them. 

Oikawa yipped again, running into the bedroom wall, smacking his door closed with an elbow. Iwaizumi locked it, which took many tries, and then put his hands in Oikawa’s hair. The brown fluff was silky smooth, curling and catching between the sweaty creases of his fingers. He didn’t want to let go. 

After so many day dreams of yanking on the perfected curls or messing the style up, he definitely wasn’t ready to stop now that he could. 

But then he heard that little whimper of pain Oikawa always tried to hide and he immediately let go. 

“Don’t pull too hard,” he admonished, trying to sound playful and cover up the sudden awkward turn. “It took me half an hour to get it this nice looking.” 

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi quickly ruffled the curls, ignoring the “Rude!” and went back to kissing the setter. Yeah, making out was now above volleyball for sure. 

After half an hour of kissing, touching, whispers of “Ow,” and “ _O-Oh_ ,” Iwaizumi almost smashed his head into Oikawa’s in shock. His mind had just conjured up the most ridiculous and hot thing ever. 

He could see the outline of Oikawa’s dick through the skirt, yanking on the constricting outfit and the idea would not go away. It was burned into his head, and his own pants felt way too tight. 

Testing how much he could get away with without Oikawa complaining or moaning too obnoxiously, Iwaizumi brushed his left hand against a displayed thigh. Against him, Oikawa sucked in a breath and tried to regain his balance against the wall. 

Encouraged, Iwaizumi tickled his fingers against the skin until Oikawa was on his toes, unconsciously trying to get away from the feeling. While he was distracted, Iwaizumi sank to his knees. 

Immediately, Oikawa snapped open his eyes at the exhales of breath against his bared legs. 

“I-I-Iwa–” 

His hand slid up and underneath the skirt. Nervous, but determined he continued to wander further, the edge of his palm and wrist brushing against his hard dick, before yanking down the ridiculous boxers. Oikawa let them go, shakily stepping out and holding his breath when Iwaizumi flung them across the room. They landed on his lamp shade, almost knocking over a glass of water. 

Embarrassed beyond belief because aliens and stars winked at him behind Iwaizumi’s shoulder, and not to mention he only had a skirt covering him up, Oikawa hid his face in his hands again. 

Only a moment later and Iwaizumi’s mouth was on him, head beneath the skirt. It was like ice chips were in his blood, the sudden hot and cold nearly buckling his knees. He smacked his right hand against the wall for support, his left on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. 

His legs came together out of instinct, but Iwaizumi quickly parted them with his left arm, reaching up behind to squeeze his ass. Oikawa leaned forward, gasping, both hands now on Iwaizumi. He was shaking very hard, unsure if he wanted to pull the ace closer or further away. 

“O-Oh god,” he breathed out, unable to inhaled enough air, unable to think or process that Iwaizumi was literally underneath his skirt, licking and sucking every inch of skin he could. “Iwa-chan, f-f–yes, oh god.” 

Iwaizumi struggled to keep his hips from bucking, from rubbing against his now painful zipper. But he couldn’t stop, drooling out of the corners of his mouth, holding Oikawa on his tongue. He couldn’t taste anything either, just like the kiss, only the occasional slightly bitter swipe. His head was spinning, barely understanding what it was. 

An accidental slip, his pinky finger rubbing against his hole and Oikawa was shouting. Iwaizumi nearly choked, but heroically stayed to swallow everything. This, he could taste. Not his favorite. 

He pulled away and blinked against the brightness of the room, having been under the dark blanket of the skirt. Iwaizumi couldn’t even remember if his eyes had been closed or not. 

Oikawa slipped this time, but his ace caught him, bruising his hand in the process, but catching him nonetheless. They sat on the floor, Oikawa trembling and Iwaizumi trying not to rip open his pants and come against his smooth legs. 

Oh no, that image was going to haunt him in bed for _months_. 

Before he could even say a word, Oikawa surged forward, kissed him within an inch of his life, and unzipped his pants. It went too fast, he had no idea what was happening other than sparks behind his eyelids and his hips moving erratically. 

He came in his hand, across Oikawa’s knees and skirt. 

Both fought to catch their breath, to settle their hearts for a long minute. Iwaizumi swallowed, his throat parched. Oikawa simply sat there, staring intensely at the ropes of cum on him. 

“T-That–” Iwaizumi began, until Oikawa looked up and beamed. He quickly shut up, brain snapping in half. 

Forced on his back by the weight of Oikawa’s sudden hug, Iwaizumi grunted, but let it happen. More quick kisses over his neck and face, more romantic nonsense pouring out of Oikawa’s mouth. 

Iwaizumi sent a quick, grateful prayer up for skirts and LUSH before beginning round two. 

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse and not at all sorry
> 
> also Oikawa is a literally a LUSH queen who loves wearing skirts fight me
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://foxicology.tumblr.com/)


End file.
